They were looking at Johnnie’s coffin. And it was probably his fault.

His head ran over and over their debates with Captain Burrows about the best way of attaching the dipole wires. Johnnie had favoured a different alignment but, using his old alibi of sophisticated geometrical calculation, Vic had persuaded him round. The fixings had been agreed by the navy men, but were carried out to Vic’s plan. So if it was found that the wires had caused the crash he, and he alone, would be to blame.

That evening he walked the Cliff Path in a daze, numbly trying to comprehend what had happened and barely able to contemplate the future, a future in which his friend would not, at any moment, come haring round the corner with his usual cheerful summons, slapping him on the back. ‘C’mon, laddie, we’ve work to do.’

Why did it have to be Johnnie? he asked again and again. The kindest, wisest man he’d ever met, the only man he’d ever considered a true friend; whose adoring wife and children were, perhaps even at this very moment, being visited by police officers down in Hampshire to be told the terrible news? Unwillingly, he found himself picturing the scene; how she would hold herself steady at first, trying to be strong for her children, but then, as the truth finally sank in, would surely collapse. How could anyone stay strong in the face of such unexpected horror?

Johnnie was a scientist, working in an environment they all believed to be relatively risk-free. That was their nature, they were not adventurers.

Now he was gone. Forever.

Vic could not imagine how life could continue. There were a few immediate practicalities to attend to, of course, and he would do his duty, steeling himself to get through them. As soon as the plane could be lifted from the sea it would be inspected by navy engineers, he knew. As part of the formal inquiry process, Vic and the remaining members of the team would be summoned for interview. There would also be memorial services to attend, he supposed. After that, Dr Rowe had insisted, the team should all take a week’s leave, to recover.

It would take so much longer than a week; perhaps forever. But Vic dared not think beyond that. Even if they kept him on here at the research station – unlikely, given everything that had happened today – how could he continue, without Johnnie? He would have to resign. But what then? Could he even bear to go on living?

Behind him, to the west, the sun was setting, sending spectacular rays of pink, orange and purple into the sky that somehow reflected off the few fluffy clouds overhead, and onto the water in front of him in constantly moving swirls of colour.

Such heartless beauty, he said to himself, as a groan of despair erupted from his chest. For the first time in his adult life, Vic found himself weeping out loud.